


What A Girl Wants

by paperwar



Category: Ookiku Furikabutte
Genre: Asian Character, Chromatic Character, Chromatic Source, F/F
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-04-26
Updated: 2010-04-26
Packaged: 2017-10-09 18:37:42
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 730
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/90331
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/paperwar/pseuds/paperwar
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Shinooka won't be a high school girl forever.</p>
            </blockquote>





	What A Girl Wants

Find a girl your own age.

That was what Momokan told Shinooka every time. She wasn't yet convinced.

Everyone on the baseball team assumed they knew where Shinooka's interest was. She didn't do anything to dissuade them, and after all, she had lots of interests. Nothing, to her mind, improved the appeal of a high school boy more than putting him in a baseball uniform. That, combined with her genuine interest in the game, made being the manager almost easy. Scouring videos to note down all the plays of the team's future opponents, making vast trays of onigiri -- no problem.

Besides, there was the other thing.

Everyone expected Shinooka to be focusing any amorous energy on the boys. She'd heard what people said about Momokan's motivations as well -- utterly ridiculous, but there you go, and at least it wasn't anyone on the team saying these things out loud. So no one noticed what else might be going on.

There was the day when she leaned over to look at notes scribbled about an opposing pitcher, realizing that her head was not quite on the coach's shoulder, but that she wanted to move still closer. Wanted to be pressed together, hip to hip. Wanted an arm around her. She could feel Momokan's body heat, wanted to sink into it.

That was how it started: one evening after the boys had already left, the two of them were poring over statistics gleaned from the most recent tournament game. Momokan had made some wry remark, and Shinooka, laughing, had looked up to catch the smile playing across her face. Without letting herself hesitate, Shinooka stretched forward the last inch or two needed for a kiss.

It lasted a heartbeat, if that, before the older woman pulled away. "Find a girl your own age, Shinooka," she said, giving her hand a quick squeeze, almost apologetic, before standing up.

Despite that brushoff, there had been other stolen kisses in similar moments; once, after a big victory, there had been hands on skin, under clothes. Now Shinooka knew the slight hollow above Momokan's hip bone, and in turn, she felt a new awareness of her body as Momokan explored it: the way one nipple was faster to arousal than the other, the surprising sensitivity of the inside of her elbow.

At night, under the blanket, face muffled in the pillow, she fucked herself until her hand cramped. That was another thing: all that clubhouse bragging about jerking off. And yet Shinooka was sure no one suspected that she made herself come more times a day than Tajima ever dreamed of.

Find a girl your own age. Momokan said that every time, as if that was the answer. As if that meant she would stop responding to Shinooka's kisses. As if Shinooka had ever met any girl like Momokan in any way at all worth comparing. (In her mind, Shinooka called her Momoe, but as much as she wanted to, she could never say it out loud, not even to herself.)

Once, on the bus back from a game that had run late, Shinooka had dozed off. Her head had drooped onto Momokan's shoulder, in itself an unexceptional response to falling asleep. It was only when Shinooka, without realizing it, put her hand on the coach's thigh and got shaken off, that she bolted awake. Awake and angry.

"You let me kiss you," she spat, heedless of any eavesdroppers. "You kiss me back. _What is the problem_?"

Momokan had chuckled -- that stung -- and gave her predictable reply. A girl Shinooka's own age. Right.

That might be easier, yes. She imagined holding hands with some other high school girl under the counter while they were working a cafe shift at the school festival. Or walking home and studying together, hastily rebuttoning shirts and smoothing down skirts when their mothers barged in with snacks.

There was something charming about it, but charming wasn't what Shinooka signed up for. Charming didn't describe Momokan's raucous laugh, or the sight of her juicing citrus fruits with her bare hands, or the fierce intelligence with which she guided the team.

Shinooka didn't want charming; she wanted something heady and uncertain and a little bit inappropriate.

Time would pass and she would, one day, stop being a high school student. She would keep snatching kisses every moment she could manage it. She would wait.


End file.
